My Shotgun Melody Paradise
by Taylor Ruggiero
Summary: For some odd reason I'm getting SO many little vampire oneshot requests! So here is another Gregory Sackville-Bagg Oneshot, I hope you all enjoy it! Reviews would be nice.


"One...two...three...one, two, three....NOW!" Explosions of beats and guitar strums echoed the small dark basement, resulting in me getting lost in the glorious music. My black microphone allowed our words to be heard from anybody in the whole neighborhood. As I leaned against the stand for support, hardworking beams of sweat rolled down my exposed forehead. The guys and I have been working since ten in the morning. It's now seven and the sun is starting to set over the horizon. You're probably wondering why five young teenage girls are slaving away in a underground room instead of going to the mall or texting constantly on a high tech phone. 'Shotgun Melody', the name we picked for the band after several hours of pondering, are intensely practicing because of the gig we were offered in a club uptown New York. This could be the actual chance we get discovered by some hot shot with greased back hair and dressed in only designer attires.

Maybe introductions are necessary here, considering this story is all about us and the show that could possibly grant normal girls popularity. First, in the back with the rocking drums is Emily Wester. Her and only her would manage to memorize every single AC/DC song ever invented. Chilling on the amp is the lead guitarist, Joan Lemmings. We usually call her Joan Jett, seeing as the girl originally from 'The Runaways' is the fifteen year old girl's idol. She's also lucky to have the same first name as well. I smiled at the sight of our second guitarist amazing dance moves on the cement floor. This crazy jitter bug is Cindy Meyers. Never have I witnessed someone bust out so many grooves while playing the guitar. Handling the dominant base is Andy Taylors. Her unique and swift styles cause every foot to tap repeatedly on a hard wooden floor, every hand to clap with it's twin. Many tend to compliment on how mature and unfazed she is on stage. Lastly, there's me, Lauren Elsilanie Corvis. Resting on my head this very moment is chocolate brown hair that travels just below the chest, those familiar side bangs I must push away during hard labor, who wants to have sweat in their hair? Hey! You can't blame a singer to struggle against the bodily functions when blaring lights are shining twenty four seven!

"Hey, Laur! Throw me another water?" Emily panted, still completing the scheduled drum solo for the current song.

I nodded, reaching in the ice box and having my bent fingers brush over thousands of cold drinks, "Yeah Buddy.---" I threw her the bottle, "---You're doin' good on the intro, but I think the chorus is a little weak."

That's the good thing about partnership. We take opinions and ideas from each other to increase our skill level. No pain, no gain, no one's feelings get hurt! Another question you're wondering at the moment is exactly why I stopped singing. Since this is only practice, I don't want to strain my voice too much or when the real show is cue, I won't be able to utter a note. I simply observe my other band mates on my break, wanting nothing but perfection.

Joan picked at her slightly longer finger nails, guitar momentarily forgotten, "Rehearsal hasn't been this long since...--oh wait! It never lasted ten hours straight!" She's just grumpy that my mother hasn't tumbled down the narrow stairwell to give us pizza snacks yet. Besides, the gig is at eleven, I doubt anyone would want to gobble something up with a nervous stomach.

"Settle down! I promise we'll stop after one more song run though."

Cindy yelped from absolute joy, almost knocking over thousands of empty soda cans, "Thank the rock and roll heavens! I'm not sure how much more my poor legs can take of this never ending dancing!" Trying to prove her point, she let herself drop to the floor like an old rag doll.

Andy rolled her plastered black eyeliner eyes, "Jesus. You people make it seem like we're dying. If anyone wants to get it big in the music industry, we practice until it's somewhat record dealing worthy." What did I tell you? Miss Taylors is quite the mature one in this messed up group.

I pressed my chapped lips to the mic, whistling very loudly for attention, "Alright, alright. Stop you're bickering. I understand we've most likely tired of seeing each other, I understand that my basement is over one hundred degrees _and_ I _understand_ we haven't eaten since the soggy pancakes breakfast. However you are well aware of what they say, music never stops for anybody!"

Emily laughed, "Let's do this." On a amazing rate, the drummer of 'Shotgun Melody' began to start the song we're going to express to teenagers all over New York. Joan, Cindy and Andy followed on command.

"_Everything around me seems so much different from where I'm from_

_And at this rate I think my fates sealed _

_This life's so unpredictable _

_Well go, continue to live a life that_

_No one knows_

_Where's this gonna go?----_"

(Homesick-A Day to Remember)

CRAP! Do you know why I screamed such curses in my head? I was interrupted---Actually, the whole band was. For just as I was going more into the song, loosing one's self, my little brother Branson barged in like he owned the place. He's an annoying thirteen year old boy who doesn't know how to read. Outside a sign clearly stated not to enter.

Branson beamed, obviously detecting the murderous expression on my face, "What chya doin?" Really? Really? What are you doing? Can you tell I'm with my band? As said long before, the entire neighborhood could hear our jamming so how can my brother not? He's a noob. Andy resisted the urge to wrap her strong clutches around Branson's neck for my sake.

I metaphorically snapped off his head, "Mom told you not to bother us! Are you also deaf and incredibly stupid? We need to practice for the gig, _no_ you're not going along."

That boy who lives upstairs let his braces infested jaw drop. I'm the bigger sibling, I know every move that he would commit at any moment. So predictable. Cindy giggled silently, hiding her dazzling smile behind her guitar skilled hand.

"But! But! But! But! But! I helped you bring the instruments down so at least you can repay the favor by letting me attend your little concert!" Branson eyed Emily as if no one noticed. Yes, the dork has a massive crush on one of my best friends, my drummer. Here's the almost funny part though, everyone is aware of the fact he does. Joan tends to pop it into a random conversation, causing Emily's face to redden. No. She doesn't like _like_ him back. I mean, honestly, my brother is stinky since beastly puberty. Maybe he should go back to reading playboy magazines and stop being such a stalker.

Andy threatened darkly, "Leave our humble of a basement or I'll whip out my goth witch pot and brew up a spell that will make you puke slugs for a year."

Branson stepped back a bit, struggling against the make believe evil of said 'witch's' mind, "If you do that I'll tell Mom! Then your sorry ass will be in the slammer before you can utter another one of your weird curses!" Oh! He thinks Andy is some sort of demon from hell, did I forget to mention that? Practically every member in the band has a label to the youngest Corvis. Emily is the hot chick, Andy is the bitchy witch, Joan is the man hating one and lastly Cindy apparently has a disease that makes her dance uncontrollably. Whatever.

Kelly, my older sister, thankfully strolled down the creaky steps, "What's with the complete silence? I'm used to 'Shotgun Melody' jammin'---" She observed us carefully then rested her eyes on a freaked out Branson, "----Now I understand! Mister, you're supposed to be cleaning your room. Want me to tell Mom I found your secret pile of army knives in the closet?"

First playboy, now army knives? Please, the boy I've known for my whole life is definitely not the type to take any orders from anybody. Not in the 'I'm a badass way' either, more like 'I'm too annoying and immature to listen to adult figures.' While Kelly shooed Branson away from us, she revealed the quirky smile that almost every guy falls for.

"Are you guys excited? First gig in a club! Don't screw it up by acting like high school freshmen or they'll boo you off the stage!" Great. The painful twisting nervous lump in my throat double in size. My band is good, yes, however I'm always hesitant to hear the opinions of outsiders. What if they claim we suck? Will cruel glass bottles be thrown in our faces? Crap, I gotta stop thinking such negative thoughts. Joan wouldn't approve.

Speaking of her, the guitarist sarcastically chuckled at Kelly's remark, "We'll take it under consideration. No one's gonna care how old we are when they hear the band's beat and Lauren's down to earth vocals."

The twenty year old shrugged her nicely toned shoulders, "Alright, don't kill the informer! I heard there's going to be another band playing the same exact night you are. Some Scottish blokes. Kick their asses or else!" Nothing more was enforced because Kelly retreated up the stairs, desiring a grand exit. I believe it's called don't kill the massager, although my sister isn't known for the best grades in 'Common Sense' class.

Cindy asked with sudden interest, "Did she say Scottish? Dude! We're competing against a Europe band! They could be like 'The Beatles' or something!"

Andy replied calmly, only the slightest detect of attitude in her voice, "I highly doubt 'The Beatles' would take the time out of their busy daily lives to play some run down party club in New York City.------Wait! Didn't _like _'The Beatles' break up _like _a long time ago?"

"Geez Andy! Don't be so uptight! I didn't mean that they were actually going to be probably the best English band on the entire planet, I meant what if they're a group of boys similar to them and then they would take all the attention from us!" Spazzy Feet defended.

Joan wisecracked, "Then that would certainly suck." Not helping.

Resisting the strong urge to slam my head against Emily's drum-set in unexpected frustration, I exclaimed, "Honestly, who cares if there's other bands! Instead of worrying on how good the enemies are, let's just _rock_." Slow motion hair flip, epic head bang, fist pounding or whatever floats your boat is necessary after yet again another inspirational command.

Oh yeah, cue the cliché group high five in determination. Soon it shall be show time.

"GRILS? PLEASE ABANDON YOUR SPOTS IN THE BASEMENT AND MEET ME OUT IN THE MINI VAN!" Mom shouted like an officer.

Didn't ya know? It's the newest trend for musical artists to travel in tacky attracting soccer parents automobiles. Branson was so_ kind _to pack the gear in the back! In reality, Mother guilt tripped him into it since he seemingly 'forgot' to buy her a present for the single day in May that gives thanks to Moms. Kelly gave us a thumbs up while passing her in the heavily decorated hallway.

Emily chanted directly to herself, "I will not throw up, I will not throw up...I will not throw up!" Scream it like you mean it! Hopefully she won't vomit all over the rather expensive drums or I'll have hell to pay when I cowardly return a veil smelling stain on a instrument to Carl's Music Factory.

"Come on knock on our door, we've been waiting for you! A thing, a thing, a thing, _three's company too_!" For some strange reason Cindy finds it relaxing to quote Full House whenever she's in short term pressure. Trust me when I say this, I'm beginning to get fed up with Bob Saget's continuos talks to his fake daughters about the right thing to do.

Joan admitted once buckling up in the car, "Wow. I'm actually anxious!"

Andy, next to this Joan Jett fan, patted her arm, "Everything's fine. Once you start playing, you'll be in a trance where nothing matters but the invisible notes flying out of your strings. A spotlight ray will dance across the newly black and white fender, dazzling not only the people watching, but yourself." Lord, isn't she full of poetry?

Mom shutting the mini van closed brought me back from little fantasies. Cold blasts of air exploded out of the side vents, causing shivers to run down each body present. In under forty five minutes, we will arrive at the club where very judgement viewers sip their coffee and discuss real music. In even less time than that, 'Shotgun Melody' will expose itself to the public. One side of my brain told me to just run away now, we don't have a chance. Yells of 'Get off the stage' and 'You suck!' quietly stabbed a few dreadful holes in my welling heart. _But_, the more brighter side gave me hope to show my face to the flashing cameras. Claps and cries of enjoyment brought a type of happiness I never felt before.

"I'm picking you guys up once the show's over! Lauren, no excuses! Grounded or not to be grounded! That is the question!" Please no.

I managed to answer, despite the unforucante dryness of my throat, "Got it. I'd rather not be grounded because I'm absolutely sure fans will want me to have autograph things later." This was granted with several giggles and sighs of relief that their singer didn't choke up.

Long periods of silence really bite. You know those kinds, when no one talks because they're all worrying about something different....all doubting one's talents, insecurity coming in like noticeable rainbow colors. Dammit. Am I being overly dramatic? On my defense, it's Kelly's fault for purposely mentioning about that Scottish bloke band. Perhaps it's also in my blame for believing an apparent 'truth'. Am I accusing my sister of lying? You can decide that.

Cindy let out a cry, similar to what a baby does when they get their first shots, "Why is this so painful?Is it me or are we moving like a snail on a busy street? No offense to you, Mrs. Corvis.....We may be late!" I'm very sure that Mom doesn't give a flipping horses hoof about the slow safeness of her driving stragies. An old married couple has been smacking their hands to the car horn, hoping we would possibly get the clue that it's pathetic that someone is slower than senior citizens.

"Nonsense! If I go any faster, a police officer will pull me over and kindly hand me a ticket! Besides, your endless conflicts deep within distracted you from taking a gander outside! I do believe we've been sitting in the club's parking lot for the past five minutes! Go remove your deadly figuratively speaking weapons from my back seat and make your mothers proud!----Remember not to show any skin, men are perverted bastards!" Exactly why my friends love to crash at my house.

Andy mumbled, "Well said."

Joan and Cindy dashed out of the classic mini van, needing the feeling of guitars under their fingertips. Emily groaned and advanced towards those heavy drums. Ouch, that's gonna suck climbing up the small narrow steps with them! I just need to carry my mic stand and a bottle of water! People are correct, singers are totally the prima donnas of the musical positions.

Mister gruff security guard demanded once he caught sight of our jumpy behavior, "Name please." A brown tiny clipboard rested in his sweatpants covered lap. Watch us not be on the list. Thus resulting in Joan arguing and then being thrown out onto the sidewalk like dirty thieves. God would sending a message, this message that 'Shotgun Melody' is indeed not destined for greatness.

I introduced proudly, "Shotgun Melody at your service."

One look at the paper, one nod, "....Right. You're playing after 'Immortal Beloveds', seeing as _they _arrived when they were supposed to."

"I knew Mrs. Corvis caused us to be late! But no! Safety always first! Dammit stupid worries for clouding my sense of amazing time!" Cindy punched the birch wall next to her lightly, pretending that she was some wrestler who lost a match.

Emily smirked politely at the club's guard, action of butt kissing obvious, "I do apologize Sir. You know how New York is a traffic magnet! Do we setup backstage while the band before us is performing?" Sickly sweet voice.

"Yeh...yeh."

Way to sound excited! You should be a comedian because you're so entertaining! Sarcasm is my secret best friend, if you haven't pointed out the overused hint. It turns terrible or embarrassing experiences into funnier ones. While Emily ran backstage to quickly create one of the most important instruments ever, I took a risk to actually observe the enemy. _Bad_ choice. Really. God strike me with a lightning bolt this moment, I spy five extra gorgeous boys expressing natural talent in a matter of short time. What was I thinking? I could be with the others getting ready, unaware to the growing men outside the black curtains.

Mystic blue lights shone on 'Immortal Beloveds', their porcelain bodies glowing at the touch. Are they even human? Each band mate had their own look, own characteristic that made girls who haven't heard of them till this night fall at their Chuck Taylor feet. Some aggressive temptation directed my wide eyes to the lead singer, he not seeming to pay attention to anyone before him. It was like the spiky black haired boy didn't want the comfort of being famous after one big gig. Dangerous chains and leather pockets hung loose on Lord McDreamy's pants. No tight edge sunglasses could replace the oddness of a pair of red windows staring through souls. Contacts? They resemble a vampire's. His mouth was open, but no graceful words floated out in my ears. Shocking realization, I feel like Father Time purposely paused this scene just for my selfish enjoyment.

_Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied. And vice sometime by action dignified. _Right you are Friar Laurence (Romeo and Juliet), too much of a good thing is a bad thing. I must tear away from Shotgun Melody's oppoent and act if their attractivness doesn't bother me. More like _his_ well being. Unluckily, my weak functioning brain along with my slim body betrayed me. There I was, coming across like an idiot, glued to a seat in the front. Joan's head popped out of the curtains near the exit, casting me a look to get my sorry ass behind the booming artsy magic. Too bad I cant.

"Put your hands together one more time for 'Immortal Beloveds', never did they hesitate in huge crowds or run away from a challenge", Club's announcer praised. Wow, their song is over. _Their song is over!_ I'm due on stage in less than ten seconds! Stupid, stupid boy. I find it extremely difficult to hate the mature band, even though I have every right to. Amazing looks, beautiful voice, stylish appearance, professional instrument handling and not to mention how they got every single person to allow an awful silence to consume them whole.

Emily's surprisingly soft hands grasped my alert left shoulder, "Dude! We're next! Are you having cold feet? Trust me, your singing is the best. Please proceed to the familiar station on the hard wooden floor!"

I ignored her. Where did that boy go? His fellow mates already walked out the door, drooling girls following close behind. Chills traveled up and down when a sudden thought explained to me that it could have all been a weird dream. I could have been watching a incredibly horrible performance than marveling at masculine beauty. Bummer. I was about to shrug it off, well _try_, and march up the stairs of fate.

My life may have been turned around in a different direction, _somebody_ halted me from singing my heart out. Do you know who that somebody is? Dish out a name. Any name! George? Mark? Lance? Maybe, those guesses could be reliable. Considering the creepy fact that I don't know the identity of said boy who stolen my very breath away. Facing him, a gasp escaped my lips. He's even more entrancing up close. What do I say? Hi? How's it goin'? Do you need help? Stand there and look like a disgusting fish?

"Are you the lead singer of 'Shotgun Melody'?"

"Yes."

His velvet voice questioned again, "Would it be rude of me to ask the name of the artist to whom I will be intently listening to?" If I was one of those junky whores, a girlish scream would have taken place here.

I said casually, "Lauren Corvis."

"It's a pleasure to make your aqqutaince, dear Lauren. I am certain your band will do well---most likely better than mine. My name is Gregory Sackville-Bagg." Cold blue lips gently dance upon my two collapsed hands. "...And I wanted you to know that I couldn't keep my eyes off you from the first time I happened to spot you out in the audience."

A/N:....So? First off, I would like apologize again to Cottoncandyconverse for taking such a long time to actually finish her requested Gregory Sackville-Bagg Oneshot! I really hope it was worth the wait and not a major disappointment! Messages/Reviews would be great if anyone else enjoyed this piece as well!


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